A Tale of Brothers
by ludwigsgirl97
Summary: When the Koreans finally succeed in mutual destruction, England and America are left pondering their own potential of having had such a relationship. Warning: suicide, drinking and angst


_England couldn't help but notice that this was the first time America was perfectly dressed. His hair was perfectly placed, even as the rain poured down atop them, and there was not a button out of place on his red white and blue uniform. His blue eyes glowed with a mix of joy, rage, and the pure sadness that filled the heart of the elder nation on his knees.  
"Why? Dammit, why?" He sobbed, no longer being able to keep up his stone cold façade. Canada had merely been to get back at France, and the islands at Spain. India was just a place where his nobles could feel important, and Australia a place to put the people who were overflowing his own island nation. But America had been for him; the one that he loved with all his heart. Every time he saw those innocent eyes look up at him with trusting question, his prideful heart would soar like a bird, and a big smile would overtake his usual scowl.  
"You used to be so big…" America said, just now realizing how the height difference had changed. England was no longer his caretaker, but his captor, and he would be free. Freedom was the most important thing, after all…_

The Korean brothers ran through the bamboo forest, knowing that China would scold them for going so far, but not really caring. So long as they had each other, they would be fine. The other was all they needed; such was the bond of identical twins.  
The chill of night started to descend as they became lost and each branch started looking exactly like the last and the next. Hyung Soon, the elder twin, took charge immediately, his long braid trailing behind him as he pretended to know what he was doing. Yong Soon, the younger twin, followed him, as he always had before. Hyung recognized the pathway that would lead them home, and sighed with relief. Before he could lead his brother to safety, however, the animal that was widely underrated in terms of violence appeared in front of them. An enormous panda, likely angry that they were in his forest, and he did not appear to be happy. He roared, and Hyung moved in front of the short haired, cowering boy with him. They were separated by seven minutes, but that slight difference was a world apart in their culture, and the two young teens had developed very differently because of it.  
With all of the privilege, and all of the responsibility, the elder was very stately, while the other was more carefree, and happy to run around, talking to his twin about nothing while the other trained. This training came in handy, as the red-clad boy broke a stalk of bamboo, and held it out as a makeshift staff. As the bear charged at them, he pushed Yong out of the way, and aimed the rod at the snout of the beast. It landed squarely, but did little more than slow and further anger the creature. It swiped its massive paw, and caught the elder boy on his right arm, blood spurting from the wound before slowing to a steady drip.  
It did little to deter the military-focused nation, instead simply making him focus more, not wanting any of the same pain to come to the crying boy hiding behind thin wooden poles to his left. He swung again, this time getting a good full turn in for momentum. As the wood hit the animal in the eye, it's blood exploded out, and it howled in pain, before swiping out, half-blind. The staff had broken, and with the now pointed end, Hyung rammed it into the massive throat, sending the bear down, taking nearly a full three minutes to die as it's blood seeped into the soil.  
"Are you okay, Yong?" Hyung asked, huffing and holding his wound, but still more worried about his unharmed brother than his own lightheadedness.  
"I'm fine, but we need to get you home. That wound looks awful!" the younger said coming out of hiding at the words, taking them as permission.  
"Not to mention it is getting late, and you need your sleep. Come, we should hurry." With just these words, the two boys rushed off to the home they shared with the other Asians, all cared for by the only adult; China. He would have a stroke when he saw what they had gotten into, and then a heart attack when he heard that it was one of his beloved pandas that had done it, and was now lying lifeless on a dirt path through the woods.

Hyung ran through the forest, now a grown man, and alone in his flight. The same arm left scarred by the bear was bleeding once more, and his lips was busted. The arm hung limply at his side and his other kept hold of it as he ran. This time, there was something more vicious than a bear following him. It was his own brother, the one he had felt so safe next to until America had taken him away. The younger refused to understand that Russia's way was really the best, and saw America and England as his heroes, rather than the brother who still loved him more than anything, even as he chased him down like a piece of game. Tears mixed with the soot on his face from the napalm bombs, and he cursed the blondes for taking away the only thing he had ever really cared about.  
Soon he reached the border of Korea and China, and looked back. England wasn't there, but he saw the blue of his brother's outfit, and the yellow of America's hair as they came through the wood. He cursed, and then realized he had been wrong when the smaller westerner appeared, his large eyebrows furrowed.  
"Are we sure we should be this bloody close to China, America?" he asked, his accent heavier than that of most of the Europeans.  
"I'm so sorry, brother." Yong said in Korean, so that his allies could not understand his plea, "Please, just see that this is the best. Come back, and we can be one people again. I don't want to lose you."  
"You are the one who threw away tradition; the one who not only goes against your father, but your older brother as well." Hyung retorted, panting for breath.  
"We have you beat! What do you hope to do?"  
"I hope to show you, with my death if need be, that letting all of your people be equal is the best way."  
"What good is equality if they simply all live in equal squalor? Give them freedom rather than the same rags and crumbs as their neighbor!"  
"WE would not end up like Russia! We would do it better."  
"It can never be done, brother! The humans will not allow it. It's too good an opportunity for corruption."  
"I think that's quite close enough." The sharp, accented English of China rang out as the small elder entered the scene. The much larger Russia was close behind, a sadistic smirk marring his childish features with ominous fury.  
"And what are you gonna do about it? We're gonna get rid of this guy, and there's nothing you can do about it!" The over-confidant American said, seemingly unphased by the fact that his archrival had just appeared in front of him with every intention of ripping him in half.  
"We shall see." Russia said, cracking his neck and pulling out his pipe.  
"No!" Both brothers shouted, looking at the other with worry.  
"This wasn't how it was supposed to go." Yong said, tears streaming down his pale face.  
"You were never supposed to go this far." Hyung agreed, reached out a hand to his baby brother before it was snatched away by China as the two communist nations turned to fighting the two democracies. The two brothers simply stared at the battle, as Russia and China gained the upper hand, sending the other two running. With a final, tearful glance, South Korea followed them, leaving his heart with the brother who he had always looked up to; had always thought he would love more than anything; who, even though they were now permanent enemies, still did.

And this led to where they were now. Modern times, and having to tell the world they hated each other. South Korea sat alone in his home, playing video games and slamming down the bottle of whiskey that America had given him for his birthday. Ironically, that day was the worst of the year, seeing as how it was also his forsaken brother's celebration. It was late in the night, and the party had long since ended, with everyone being driven to a hotel since Yong did not want them in his house, for just this reason. Each year, he mourned the brother who was still alive, but not really there. He stood up, his stewing anger reaching boiling as he downed the rest of the bottle and threw it against the wall, the heavy glass breaking with a satisfying crash. He sobbed, and went through his house, throwing things. He flipped over the stand, which held his electronics, not caring when his TV came crashing down with the destroyed wiring sparking. The shaggy carpet caught one of the sparks, but in his drunken rage, the younger Korean didn't notice until it was too late. The fire burned hot, evaporating the salty tears that poured from his eyes like rivers.  
"I'm so sorry, brother." He said, inhaling the smoke into his lungs, not really caring to get out. Death would be a welcome relief, and at the very least his people would be united against, even if it were under the deteriorating mind of his elder brother.

North Korea removed his uniform and placed it neatly on the edge of his bed. He sighed, wondering what his little brother was doing. While his sanity faded a little with every day, that smiling, round face at looked up at him with nothing but trust. A single tear collected on his eyelid, and fell down his thin face. He had not been eating lately, swearing that he would only eat as much as the average member of his nation. Meanwhile, he also had a massive training load, not wanting to be caught off guard. He had many enemies, and his little brother, while the most frequent, was not the most dangerous. Japan was becoming desperate like he had been in the world wars, and a desperate nation with a corrupt government made a perfect target for a resource hungry ex-empire. There was China, who had long since stopped supporting him, and grew stronger by the day. Then the entire west, who hated him for his leaders, and the fact that he had become as unstable as the nuclear materials that scared them.  
"Are you okay, brother?" The high-pitched voice that made more tears follow the path paved by their brother said. He looked behind him to see a young boy looking at him with concern.  
"I'm fine, Yong. There's no need to worry about me." Logic had long since left, and he didn't see any reason why the young boy could not be standing next to him, a child in spite of their shared birth.  
"Then why'd you leave me, brother?" He asked, and the spark of joy that had flashed in his heart turned into a solid piece of ice.  
"I didn't leave…we just drifted apart…" He said, his voice begging the other not to do this, that he already felt guilty enough.  
"If that's what you call running away to China and Russia. And where are they now? I was always by your side, but you left me. You left me with the westerners, so what else was I supposed to do? We can never be together again because of you. Because you can never look forward. How is this new government of yours working out for you, brother?"  
"Stop. Please, just don't. I love you more than anything, Yong. You're everything that could ever hold meaning in my life. Don't leave me."  
"I'm already gone, brother. There's only one way you can follow me. You have to only look at your ultimate future." The boy said, his voice making it clear what he wanted. Yong was gone, and the emptiness in his heart told him that this was the truth. He drew the small multi-tool from his folded clothing, and flicked out the small, but razor-sharp knife.  
"I'm so sorry brother…" He whimpered, drawing the blade vertically up his arm, red roses welling and then snaking out along his bare palm. He went to his desk and wrote in his morbid red ink: I've gone to be with my brother.

America stood next to England at the funeral, staring at the twin corpses. They were both dressed in black suits, and the only way to tell them apart was the length of their hair, and the way the wrinkles started on their faces. The longer haired boy's was in scowl lines, and worry wrinkles, while the other's showed a strained sort of smile, a façade shown to the rest of the world in order to keep them from knowing all of the agony he felt inside. He thought back to that day in the rain, with England's gun pointed at him, and a dozen pointed at England.  
"What if we had ended up that way, Iggy?" America asked, his heart sinking at the thought that this could very well have been their funeral.  
"Then we would still have been together. At least this way they can be as close as they were before. I once heard someone say that in death, all wrongs are forgiven, and all grudges forgotten, because you leave them at the gates of heaven."  
"You'd never let yourself die, would you?"  
"Not unless it was to save you. I'm far to selfish to endure not being by your side again, unless I have the healing hand of God upon my shoulder."  
"Silly, I'm the hero." America said, wrapping his arm around England's shoulder, and trying not to cry. Korea had been his best friend, and in spite of the fact that the north had been his worst enemy, he still felt bad that he had gone like this.  
"Just don't go being the hero who dies at the end of the story." England responded, placing a small kiss to the other's cheek, and resting a sad head on his shoulder.

Two brothers, one wishing for freedom, and the other for unity. A common occurrence in the history of nations. The choice isn't whether or not you go your separate ways, but rather if you move on from the split, and become best friends, rather than brothers.


End file.
